


Ladies of the Ring: Fellowship of the Ring

by Nelsynoo



Series: Ladies of the Ring [1]
Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Annamir and Nelwen have potty mouths, Epic Friendship, Excesive swearing, Excessive Silliness, Gen, Hints at romance, Original Character(s), POV Female Character, POV Multiple, POV Original Character, POV Original Female Character, Poor Decision Making Skills
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-20
Updated: 2015-10-29
Packaged: 2018-04-27 06:35:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 20
Words: 19,786
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5037655
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nelsynoo/pseuds/Nelsynoo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>My best friend, Anna, and I were watching Lord of the Rings and decided that the Fellowship, while well meaning, is a bit of a flailing mess. We therefore came to the sound conclusion that had Elrond thought to invite Anna and I to Rivendell, we could have been rid of the Ring in only a couple of weeks and with minimal casualties.</p><p>This started as a joke between Anna and I but escalated into something epic. This is just self-indulgent, highly irreverent (but diligently researched!) silliness.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Ranger Arrives

The ranger adjusted her pack as she walked. Although her travelling leathers were considerably lighter than the mail armour she usually favoured, the journey had been long and her pack was heavy, and she tugged irritably at the straps where they were digging into her shoulders.

She had long left the Great East Road behind and had been picking her way through the moorlands and foothills of the Misty Mountains for some time. Uncertain of the route, she had found herself accidentally turned round on a number of occasions and was glad to have finally reached the approach to Rivendell. Up ahead, elegant white arches and dove-grey towers peered over the dense canopy of trees. Even in the meager light of the late evening sun, the autumn-hued leaves shone with vibrant shades of red and gold.

Annamir had always been one to appreciate a fine landscape, always been one to admire the majestic arch of a mountain, the lazy tumbling of a woodland stream. A natural affinity for nature was one of the reasons she had become a ranger (that and a stubborn proclivity towards solitude and penchant for stabbing things). Had Annamir stopped to look, to admire the towering, snow-capped Misty Mountains and the roaring falls of the Bruinen river, she would have declared Rivendell to be one of the finest vistas in all of Middle Earth. But Anna did not stop, did not so much as slow her punishing pace. The Wizard’s letter had urged her to hurry, and while it was furiously lacking in details, Anna could tell from the tone that something was amiss and her immediate attention was required.

Annamir didn’t like to hurry; she liked to ramble, to move at her own considered pace, and usually felt no qualms with making people wait. Hurrying felt unnatural, and the frenzied journey had left her feeling uncharacteristically tired and anxious.

The familiar prickle on the back of her neck alerted Anna to the fact that she was being watched and, at last, after nearly three weeks of constant travel, Annamir stopped. Acknowledging her surroundings for the first time, Anna found herself in a wide courtyard, wrapped by a cloistered walkway and occupied by a lone, twisted tree. A few elven faces peered at her from a distance with open curiosity (and the usual level of elven condescension) but none made any move to greet her. 

With limbs left graceless from travel, Anna dropped her pack to the ground, casting it a resentful glare. Every muscle in her legs urged her to take a moment and rest but, having travelled so far and so quickly, Anna was impatient to find out for what purpose she had been so urgently summoned. She had just begun to stride across the courtyard to interrogate one of her elven onlookers when a familiar voice bellowed, “Annamir, daughter of Annamund, what took you so bloody long?!” She could hear the smile in his voice. “Did you get lost? Perhaps your ranger skills are not as honed as you claim.” Anna bit back the first response that came to mind (something about impertinent conjurors of cheap tricks) but instead turned to embrace her old friend; “good to see you too Gandalf.”


	2. Sitting in Distant Judgement

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our second POV character, Nelwen, is introduced.

A loud, dull thud invaded the silence of the library.

From her perch curled up on the windowsill, Nelwen idly cast a glance towards the courtyard stretched beneath her. The windowsill was a favoured spot for Nel; from her seat she could see most of the city as it meandered its way down to the river, and this corner of the library was rarely visited, meaning that she could read with little fear of interruption. Looking at the view before her, the streets were relatively empty, most elves having retired to their homes for evening meals and music. Aside from the singing of nightjars and corncrakes, the city was quiet and the origin of the thud eluded her. Nelwen was about to return her attention to the book haphazardly balanced on her lap when she caught sight of the bedraggled stranger standing at the far side of the square below with a pack dumped unceremoniously at their feet.

Nel couldn’t make out the newcomer’s appearance, obscured as they were by the branches of the Glandagol tree, but she could tell by their hunched posture and the noise of their footfalls that they were human. Surely not another one? Far from either the Great East Road or the High Pass, Rivendell saw few visitors. And yet the last few months had witnessed a seemingly endless parade of peculiar figures. Rumours were rife: some said that dragons were heading south from the Withered Heath towards the elven kingdoms; others claimed that one of the lost rings of power had been found. Nelwen put little stock in rumours, preferring instead to rely on the steady knowledge she found in her books, but she couldn’t deny that she was curious.

From her vantage point, Nelwen watched as the stranger was approached by the Wizard, Gandalf, before greeting him with a hearty embrace. She should have bloody known. The Wizard was a reasonably regular presence in the Kingdom of Elrond, _occasionally_ accompanied by unusual companions and _always_ accompanied by trouble. If something was truly afoot, it made sense that he was the one behind it. As she watched them gesticulate in animated discussion, Nelwen suddenly became very aware that she had been staring at them for some time and was struck with a flush of guilt for her nosiness. Surely she had better things to do than pry on a reunion among friends.

Oh bugger.

With a start she tumbled from the windowsill with uncharacteristic gracelessness. Elrond had asked her to attend a meeting in his private study that evening and she had lost track of time while spying on the unexpected human. Nelwen was always, **_always_** punctual. An elven life may be long but that didn’t mean that time should be wasted in idle waiting. The book that had been resting on her lap went skittering across the floor and she swore under her breath as it disappeared under a reclining couch. She would have to remember to recover that later.


	3. Council of Elrond

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The epic quest to destroy the Ring is discussed. Warning: contains bad puns.

Coming to an abrupt stop outside the door to Elrond’s study, Nelwen took a moment to smooth down her hair before briskly knocking. She entered when summoned and was surprised to find a number of people already present. Of course Elrond was there, standing behind his desk and regarding her as she entered. Opposite him stood Gandalf, and next to the Wizard sat the strange human from before, idly tracing the delicate carving of the chair’s arm with the tip of a small flick blade. A nearby armchair was occupied by a hobbit. Nelwen recognised him as one of the hobbits that had arrived at Rivendell several months ago, the one she knew to be called Frodo. She had heard that he had defied the Witch King of Angmar at the Ford of Bruinen and yet, looking at him now, he did not look like the mighty challenger of Nazguls but a lost child, tired and miserable. In the corner, slightly removed from the rest of the assembled company, stood Aragorn.

She started to proffer apologies but Elrond merely waved them away. He waited until Nel had taken a seat next to his desk before beginning to address the assembled: “I want to thank you all for coming here. You have all been summoned because a great darkness threatens Middle Earth, a darkness which has only grown in power as we idled in ignorance; we few here now stand as the last defence against total ruin. Frodo… the ring.”

The hobbit lifted himself from the armchair with great effort and Nelwen felt a twinge of sympathy that someone so young, so small, had been lumbered with what was clearly a great burden to him. From his pocket he produced a thick gold band, which he placed tentatively on the corner of Elrond’s desk. The plain ring looked so innocuous sitting among the papers and neat piles of books that Nel couldn’t help but feel a little underwhelmed. That so much anxiety and suffering could be inspired by such a tiny object was remarkable.

“The Ring of Power serves one master,” Elrond continued, “and as long as it exists, Sauron’s power will only grow. We have only one choice, the ring must be destroyed.” Nel didn’t miss that Frodo seemed to squirm in his seat at Elrond’s words. His eyes remained fixed on the Ring.

The human, Nel still did not know her name, gave a humourless chuckle, “and how does one go about doing that? Were it a simple matter, surely you would have done the deed already.”

“The ring was made in the fires of Mount Doom, only there can it be unmade. The ring must be taken to Mordor.”

“And you want one of us to take it?”

“We originally invited representatives from each race of Middle Earth to Rivendell,” Gandalf explained. “We had hoped that cooperation between the races of Middle Earth would help in this perilous quest. Unfortunately, we… miscalculated.”

Nelwen snorted in a very un-elven-like manner - ‘miscalculated’ was an understatement. Though at the time she did not know what the meeting was regarding, she did know that it had ended in chaos. Sharp words had degenerated into fisticuffs and then into a full-on brawl. Nel didn’t even want to think about how the son of Thranduil had ended up with so many bite marks.

The human leant forward until her elbows rested on her knees. “So just to clarify. You want us to traverse the Ephel Duath, the Morgal ridge, cross the arid plateau of Gorgoroth to Mount Doom. All the while eluding the great eye of Sauron and his army of orcs.”

Elrond did not reply but merely nodded.

“Well! We’ll just have to simply walk into Mordor. How hard can it be?”

Gandalf turned to smile at his friend, placing his hand on her shoulder to give it a grateful squeeze. “And what says you, Nelwen? Elrond has chosen you specifically for this quest. He believes you have the character required to bear the burden of the Ring of Power.”

It took a great deal to render Nelwen inarticulate but she found herself incapable of responding to the Wizard. She only blinked at him, her mouth slightly agape. She was a scholar, not an adventurer!

“What?! Me?” she asked once she’d finally regained control of her voice.

“I have known you for nearly a thousand years, watched you grow from childhood. I am certain that you can bear this burden, that your desire for books, and the quiet in which to enjoy them, far outweighs any desire for power,” said Elrond, his eyes demonstrating unexpected fondness; she didn’t realise he thought so highly of her.

Nelwen suddenly realised that all eyes were upon her, clearly waiting in anticipation of her answer. She looked at Elrond and his expectant gaze. She couldn’t bear the thought of disappointing him. Raising her head in the hope that it projected a confidence that she did not feel, she said “I will take the ring to Mordor.”

The Wizard scrutinised her with an even stare. Nelwen was suddenly reminded of her interview to gain entrance to the university of Lorien. The panel of prestigious elven scholars had questioned her for days, challenging every answer she gave and forcing her to articulate greater and greater levels of nuance in each argument. The whole ordeal had left her physically as well as mentally drained and the memory made her cheeks flush with uncomfortable warmth. Actually, on reflection, walking into Mordor would probably be easy compared to arguing metaphysics with Celeborn.

Seemingly satisfied, Gandalf smiled and nodded. “I will help you bear this burden, as long as it is yours to bare.”

Aragorn, who had remained silent and still throughout the meeting, finally stepped forward at Gandalf’s words and said, “if by my life or death I can assist you, I will." Nelwen sent him a thankful nod. She and Aragorn had been friends for many years and if she was to travel to Orodruin with a wizard and this unnervingly grinning female ranger, she would be grateful for his company. "You have my sword.”

“Already got one, thanks” the human woman quipped with a wicked smile, “but I appreciate the sentiment.”

Elrond smiled, some of the tenseness in his posture finally loosening, and extended his arms to the gathered assembly of people. Nelwen and Annamir rose from their seats, stepping forward to greet each other with a firm handshake. “At least it won’t be boring,” Anna said.

“So be it!” bellowed Elrond, “you shall be – the Fellowship of the Ring!”

Nelwen scrunched her nose in disapproval, “can you really call four people a fellowship? It’s really more of a foursome.”

“The Foursome of the Ring doesn’t quite have the same ring to it though,” pointed out Anna.

“How about the Ring Quartet?”

“Oh I like that! It’s like a play on words.”

“You know what,” Elrond interrupted, “it’s fine, you don’t need a name.”

For the first time since the Ring had arrived at Rivendell, Elrond felt a little hopeful. Of course it was only a modest hope: the road to Mordor was a perilous one and the group he and Gandalf had assembled to achieve this quest was… untested. But since no one had ended up with a black eye or broken ribs, he was content to call the meeting a success.


	4. Farewell to Rivendell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Fellowship prepares to leave Rivendell. Copious swearing ensues (Annamir has a potty mouth). Also - more puns!

Anna pulled on the flap of her pack; just a few inches more and the leather strap would reach the buckle. She gave the flap a few sharp tugs. The strap was still nowhere near. Well bugger. Balancing precariously on one leg, she pinned her pack with one knee, hoping the extra leverage would help in her epic struggle with obstinate luggage. Her hopes were ill founded; the pack still would not close. Well fuck. With a level of determination usually only seen in cornered animals, Anna pulled on the flap with both hands while holding her pack pincer-like between her thighs. Finally the strap reached the buckle and Anna secured the pack closed with a triumphant “Aha!” From over her shoulder she heard a smug, “you missed something.” Turning, she saw Nelwen pointing to the ground where Anna’s right pauldron sat mockingly.

Well fucking bugger.

Perhaps it was the murder in Annamir’s eyes that caused the smirk to drop from Nelwen’s face, or perhaps pity. Either way, Nel quickly dipped to pick up the pauldron before returning to her own pack and slipping it inside. “When we stop for camp we can rearrange your pack – try to get everything to fit,” she said. “Thank you,” Anna replied with a nod. How had the elf managed to pack so light? Clearly she had failed to pack enough weaponry; Anna disapproved.

Hearing someone approach from behind, Annamir turned to find Elrond and Gandalf striding towards them. Aragorn had arrived at the yard some time before; with Gandalf’s arrival, the travelling party was now complete. Beyond the small group of sombre-looking elves that Anna assumed was the official send-off party, she could see countless faces peering from windows and walkways. She could hardly blame them for their curiosity. By now the whole of Rivendell had heard that the One Ring had been found; that an epic quest was underway to destroy the Ring once and for all; and that a team had been assembled to accomplish this impossible feat. Anna supposed they were probably all very disappointed. They had come to see a group of heroes departing on their grand quest. Instead they had found a human with an aversion to personal grooming, a surly elf incapable of identifying the pointy end of a sword, an old man who looked like he could be defeated by a mildly uneven flight of stairs, and a woman who was regularly mistaken for a teenaged boy.

Gandalf clapped Annamir on the shoulder in what she assumed was meant to be an encouraging gesture. Anna had travelled with Gandalf on many occasions, partaken in many adventures, and he had always been brutally honest with her, never resorting to empty platitudes or vain encouragements. If he felt the need to buck her confidence now then that was surely a sign that they were all fucked.

Gandalf gestured for Nelwen to join them and the elf stepped forward. “Frodo,” Gandalf called, “the Ring.” For the first time, Anna spotted the hobbit standing a few paces behind the Wizard. Maybe Gandalf’s ribbing from a few days earlier was correct; her ranger skills **_were_** rusty. 

Frodo put his hand into the pocket of his waistcoat and Nelwen held out her hand expectantly. For the longest time they remained like that; Frodo with his hand in his pocket, shoulders haunched as if shielding him from a strong gale, and Nel waiting patiently with her hand outstretched. Anna could see something in the hobbit’s eyes, something like doubt, something like greed. She wasn’t certain whether it was her imagination but the sun seemed to dim and the sound of the crashing waterfalls nearby became dull. She could hear a slight hum at the back of her skull and was suddenly painfully aware that everyone in the vicinity was deathly still. 

Finally Frodo snapped to. He placed the Ring in Nel’s hand, face looking noticeably relieved, and she slipped it onto a gold chain. “It’s not really my style,” she said as she clasped the necklace around her neck. It was a poor attempt at humour but Anna appreciated the effort. Frodo and Gandalf said their farewells but Anna wasn’t paying attention. Instead she was watching the elf as she traced the ring with her fingertips before slipping it under her tunic out of sight. Anna wondered how long it would take until the elf looked as bad as the hobbit, tired and drawn and worn.

When the last final equipment checks were complete, Elrond stepped forward to survey the assembled group. “The Ring Bearer is setting out on a quest for Mount Doom. Of you who travel with her, no oath or bond is made to go further than you will. Farewell, I hold you to your purpose. May the blessings of elves, of men, and all free folk go with you.”

No one made to move.

“Nelwen,” Gandalf prodded gently, “lead the way. The fellowship awaits the Ring Bearer.”

Nel looked momentarily alarmed before responding with a smirk, “you mean the Ring Quartet.”

As she stepped forward, Anna fell in line behind her, “or the Awesome Foursome.”

“A four-ce to be reckoned with.”

“Number puns aren’t really my four-te.”

“This is going to be a very long trip,” sighed Gandalf.


	5. The Fellowship Goes South

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I actually really enjoy writing these sections where it's just people walking and the landscape plodding past. 
> 
> My friend did not appreciate the snarky comments I made about her poor navigational skills; they really are dire though.

The fellowship stepped forth from Rivendell and followed the hidden elven roads to the Ford of Bruinen where they turned southwards. Here the road ended (much to the disappointment of Annamir) and they continued along the open countryside of the folded lands. Their intention was to continue along the west of the mountains for many miles and days before passing the Misty Mountains by the Redhorn Gate. The land was rough and barren on the west of the mountains, and Annamir wished they were walking instead through the verdant lands of the green vale on the eastern side of the range. But Gandalf and Elrond had stressed the need for secrecy in their journey and while this route was slow and hard, it increased their chances of escaping the notice of unfriendly eyes. Annamir had spent many months wondering the green vale of the Wilderland alongside the Great River; she would just have to content herself with memories while she trudged through the unremarkable landscape of eastern Eriador.                                                                                                          

Despite the burden of their undertaking, spirits were high among the fellowship. Good food and plenty of rest at Rivendell meant that the rough terrain was little hindrance to sprite legs. Autumn was also late this year and the weather was unseasonably warm. At night, Gandalf and Annamir regaled the fellowship with outrageous tales of their exploits. Stories of cave trolls and treasure, drinking and ill-advised bets. Anna decided that she would keep her stories about dragon hunting in the Withered Heath to herself for now; there was no point in using up all her best material in the first few weeks of travel. During the day, Nelwen sang travelling songs, usually lilting elven tunes but occasionally bawdy human songs as well. Anna had no idea where such a diminutive, elegant elf had learnt such crude language but she happily joined in tunelessly but enthusiastically. Aragorn was the most reticent of the group but when they stopped to rest he would sometimes talk of far off places he had travelled or histories he had heard of times long past, and the fellowship would listen in rapt silence.  

Listening to the singing and bickering, the tales of heartbreak and the tales of implausible victory, Gandalf found himself feeling increasingly hopeful. This was not the fellowship that he had originally foreseen undertaking this task. But when the council meeting among the races of Middle Earth degenerated into a brawl too base for even the seediest of taverns, he had been forced to think of an alternative. That this unlikely fellowship was managing to get along proved to Gandalf that he had made the right choice. 

He had felt reservations about contacting his old friend Annamir for this task. While they had partaken of many adventures together, none had been of such import. And while Nelwen had been chosen by Elrond with the highest of recommendations, Gandalf knew little of her except that she seemed intelligent, patient, and remarkably self-assured (arrogant even). Elrond had insisted that her arrogance was her greatest asset for this quest. “The arrogant do not crave power,” Elrond had said, “because they are already convinced of their own superiority.” Gandalf supposed he couldn’t really argue with that logic.

At first Annamir had led the fellowship through the rocky outcrops and exposed plateaus of the folded lands but after they had walked past the same dilapidated outpost for the fourth time in a matter of days, she had been relegated to the back of the group, leading the horse. Anna wondered idly why they had only one horse. Taking the journey by horseback would significantly shorten its duration. If they had been a larger group, say nine, she would have understood Elrond’s reluctance to part with such a great number of mounts. But surely he could have managed without four measly horses! Anna concluded that Elrond was a stingy bugger, a fact that she proclaimed to the horse on a number of occasions; she took the horse’s silence as an indication of agreement.

When they reached the old realm of the Noldorin Elves, they stopped to rest and eat in the crumbling ruins of what Anna assumed to have once been some sort of watchtower. Perched on the top of a bluff, the views across the once glorious land of Eregion were superb and Anna soaked in the view with relish. Slightly removed from the group stood Nelwen, shooting arrows into a makeshift target she had set up among the tree line. Nel practiced with her bow every time the group stopped to make camp and Anna had watched her with increasing concern. Sure the woman was skilled with a bow, rarely missing her target, but she fired with the slow, wooden movements of someone who practiced regularly but lacked any real experience. Her technique was flawless but she lacked in finesse. Anna suspected that the elf would fair poorly should they encounter any actual battle.

As Aragorn handed Anna a plate of food fresh from the fire, he commented on the swift progress of their group. Anna concurred, although she questioned whether they were taking the best route. The Redhorn Pass was famously perilous. Why not take the High Pass and then follow the Anduin valley to Lorien? Or they could continue through Enedwaith and into Gondor south of the White Mountains. Perhaps, she mused aloud, they should have gone north out of Rivendell and taken the pass close to the Ettenmoores. While it was a bit late in the year to be travelling so far north, the unseasonably warm weather meant that such a passage was still possible.

Gandalf bristled slightly at Annamir’s critique of his chosen path, “you’re forgetting, old friend, that secrecy is paramount if we are to succeed in our quest. There is little hope in getting through the High Pass unnoticed. I will not risk taking us so close to Goblin-town or Dol Guldur. And the path through Enedwaith takes us passed Isengard; we will find no safe harbour along the Greyflood.”

“And what of the Ettenmoores?” asked Anna.

“The Ettenmoores are troll country, servants of Sauron.”

“Come now, when have we ever been deterred by mere trolls. Have you forgotten our encounter with the mountain trolls of Mount Gundabad?”

Gandalf gave a dry chuckle, “I could not forget even if I wished. But your cavalier attitude towards trolls aside, it is too late in the year to attempt the northern route. The weather may be fair now but it could quickly change and then we would be trapped.”

Anna looked out across Eregion towards the Glanduin river and the dark clouds she saw gathering there. “Perhaps you are right,” she conceded, “winter is coming and our good fortune with the weather is unlikely to last. Look, I can see storm clouds approaching even now.”

Nelwen stilled and the steady rhythm of her bow fell silent. Observing the storm clouds in the distance, her brow became furrowed and Annamir found herself growing uneasy. Abandoning her weapon, Nel climbed the ruined walls of the watchtower with the easy grace of an elf until she had reached a better vantage point.

“Nelwen,” Gandalf called, “what do your elven eyes see?”

“That is no storm cloud. It moves too quickly, and against the wind.” With a start, she scrambled down the watchtower to the assembled group. “It’s Crebain from Dunland!”

“Hide!” commanded Gandalf.

The group scattered to different hiding places among the old ruins and shrubbery, Aragorn only pausing long enough to douse the flames of their cooking fire. With bated breath they waited as the crows circled and swooped overhead, the air heavy with their foul croaking and squawking. At length they passed and the fellowship cautiously vacated their hiding places.

“The eyes of Saruman,” said Gandalf, “surely now you see why I take this route. We must hurry to the Redhorn Pass without delay.”

They gathered their packs and Anna gave one last, forlorn look at her half-eaten sausages before taking her place at the back of the group for their long trek through the Misty Mountains.


	6. Caradhras Pass

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Awesome Foursome march miserably through the snow. 
> 
> Nelwen and Annamir argue because, of course, they need to start on shaky ground and then end up best buds.

Nelwen was cold. This was not something she enjoyed.

Drudging up the western slope of Caradhras, a bitter wind surged down from the summit, as if the mountain itself was offended by her imposition and trying to keep her away. She couldn’t really blame the mountain; if she saw a group of bedraggled travellers cavorting her way, she’d probably try to blow them down a ravine as well. The force of the wind made her face smart and she could feel the cold biting her flesh even through her cloak and leathers. Great chunks of snow tipped into the tops of her boots and dripped determinedly down her calves. It was grossly uncomfortable.

Nelwen was rather well-travelled for an elf, though certainly not as well-travelled as her companions. Elves tended to be quite isolationist, preferring to stick to the elven kingdoms and ignore the rest of Middle Earth which was, after all, dank and malodorous. But Nelwen, while agreeing with her brethren that most of Middle Earth was exceedingly grimy and its inhabitants ill-bred, was rather fond of travel. For the one thing Nel loved more than anything else, including her own comfort, was being right. Travel gave her the opportunity to be more right about more things, and so travel she did. She had studied at the great university in Lorien, attended feast days in the Elvenking’s Halls in Mirkwood, lost herself for days in the library of Minas Tirith, and walked the full stretch of the Greenway from Fornost Erain to Pelargir harbour. And yet throughout all of her history of travel, never before had she felt as wretched as she did on the slopes of Caradhras.

Of course Nelwen had crossed the Misty Mountains many times before but she had always waited until summer, as did all sane people. This was a cold unlike anything she had ever experienced and Nelwen wondered whether it was too late to turn back and take the North-South Road to the Westfold. Surely it was safer in the clutches of Saruman than in the clutches of this wind.

So consumed was she in her private misery that Nelwen tripped over her own feet and went tumbling down the slope. When she finally came to a stop, wet and disheveled, she looked mildly alarmed, as if she didn’t quite understand what had happened. Elves didn’t _trip_ and she was grossly embarrassed by her rather spectacular fall. Aragorn hurried down to her and reached out to help her out of the snow. She muttered her thanks but avoided making eye-contact in case she found mockery there. Suddenly she noticed the chain was missing from around her neck and she started anxiously searching the blanket of snow for the telltale glimmer of gold.

“You dropped this” came a voice from above her on the mountainside. When she looked up, Nel saw Annamir holding the ring on its chain, pendulously swinging it in front of her curious eyes. “It is a strange thing that we should suffer so much fear and doubt for so small a thing” Anna mused. Aragorn and Gandalf eyed Anna warily; they knew too well of the weakness of man when confronted with the Ring of Power.

But Anna merely smiled, either not noticing Aragorn and Gandalf’s discomfort or choosing to ignore it. She handed the ring to Nel who snatched it from her hands before swiftly placing the chain around her neck. With the ring safely hidden below her tunic once more, she nodded to her companions that she was ready to continue and the fellowship resumed their slow crawl up the mountain.

Rather than retaking her usual position at the rear, Annamir walked side-by-side with Nel. After a time of silence which, if not companionable, was not actively unpleasant either, Anna said, “you fell.” 

Nelwen gave her a sidelong glare, “I noticed… I was there.”

“That wasn’t very… **_elf-y_**.”

“Excuse me?”

“I thought elves were graceful and sure-footed… just seemed abnormally clumsy for an elf is all.”

Nel scrunched up her nose but did not deign to answer. If Nel thought that her silence would dissuade Annamir from continuing, she was mistaken.

“You’re a bit short for an elf,” continued the ranger. “I thought elves were all tall, willowy things.”

Nelwen was swiftly losing patience with this conversation. “And I thought rangers were all excellent pathfinders,” she bit back, “and yet back in the lowlands you repeatedly led us in circles.” 

“I think you’ll find I was charting the safest course," Anna replied with more than a touch of defensiveness in her voice. "Our journey is perilous and secrecy is paramount. I purposefully took us on a circuitous route to confuse any spies that may have been tracking us.”

“You were lost.” 

Anna tried to come up with some biting retort but all she could come up with was, “shut up, elf…”


	7. Discussing Moria

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I love Moria! It's my favourite section from the books and I love it in the film as well.
> 
> But I never understood why Gandalf didn't just tell them that Moria was dangerous! And it seems utterly absurd for Gandalf to suggest Frodo choose their onward path when he obviously has no idea what he's talking about! So I've rectified that somewhat egregious oversight.

The higher they climbed up the great mountain, Caradhras, the more Annamir wished she was back home in Ithilien. Sure it was overrun with orcs and occasionally terrorised by Nazgul, but at least it was warm. Anna attempted to wriggle her toes, hoping the movement would force some feeling back into them. At first the numbing had been sweet release from the bitter cold but she was beginning to feel concerned. She had once met a Northern Ranger who had lost all but one of his toes up Carn Dum; the tales he had told her of blackened skin and the smell of rot were enough to make her stomach roil.

The elf strode on at the head of their group, her footfalls leaving barely an imprint in the snow. Annamir resisted the urge to push her off the mountain. Gandalf would probably be rather irked if she killed the Ring Bearer. 

Suddenly Nelwen stopped, raising her hand to indicate that they should do likewise. For a moment the fellowship just stood and listened as the wind howled and pulsed around them. It seemed almost a living thing, prowling cautiously, retreating, and then surging forward with renewed intensity. “I hear a foul voice in the wind,” Nel called back to Gandalf. “It’s Saruman!” he replied. The roar of the wind had now become deafening and the snow cut into the huddled figures like shattered glass. Whiteness swallowed them from all directions and Anna feared that only one step would take her off the mountainside and falling into nothing. 

“We need to head back!” shouted Aragorn, though Anna could barely hear him. 

“No!” insisted Gandalf, stepping forward and bursting into a rhythmic chant. But whatever magic Gandalf was attempting did nothing to alleviate the assault of wind and ice.

“We should head for the Gap of Rohan. And take the West Road to Gondor.”

“That would take us too close to Isengard,” replied Gandalf.

“If we cannot go over the mountain, why not go through it?” suggested Anna. “We should head through the Mines of Moria. I have known the company of Balin’s dwarves before; we can expect good food and not terrible beer.”

Annamir had known Gandalf for many years, travelled with him across many miles, and she could read his face like a ranger could read the landscape. Even through the blanket of white, even despite his best efforts to maintain his impassive countenance, she could see his face drop, his eyes momentarily narrow in fear.

“Let the Ring Bearer decide,” said Gandalf

Nel scrunched her nose in disapproval, a facial expression with which Anna was fast becoming familiar. “Why should **_I_** decide? That’s a terrible idea! I am unfamiliar with this land and therefore the least qualified to make such a decision.” She looked around, as if the answer could be found in the jagged rocks along the mountain face, in the whitewash of the snowstorm. After a time she shrugged, “maybe Moria?”

For a split second Gandalf’s face twisted with dread before he schooled it back into neutrality; but elven eyes miss nothing. “What was that face for?” 

“What face?”

“I said ‘Moria’ and your expression become pained. What reservations have you regarding Moria?”

Gandalf knew that there was no use in lying, knew that the elf’s keen eyes would detect any attempt at omission. “The dwarves... they delved too deap. Disturbed something best left forgotten to time,” Gandalf said, his voice pitched soft and low as if imparting a secret. “I know what they awoke in the dark places of the world: shadow and flame. Under the mountain, the mines will be our tombs.”

“Well that sounds ominous!” she squeaked indignantly. Gandalf's words had clearly rattled her, her eyes drooping in unease and her mouth drawn into a thin line. But while her features were coloured by fear, there was also anger in the pinch of her brows.

With a frustrated growl, she turned and started back down the mountain pass, assuming, correctly, that everyone would follow her. Clearly the elf had had enough. “Where are we going?” called Annamir, slightly bemused as to the elf's sudden change of course.

“We head for the Gladden Pass. We can follow the River Goldwater to Loeg Ningloron and then onwards down the Anduin Valley to Lothlorien.”

After a few steps Nelwen stopped and turned to the wizard, eyes pensive now rather than fearful, although the anger remained coiled between her brows. “What would you have done had I not asked? Would you have let us go to the Mines of Moria, knowing that only danger and darkness awaited?”

Gandalf said nothing. He did not need to; the answer was written clearly on his face.

The little elf exploded with rage, her anger likely amplified by her misery and frustration with the snowstorm. “Bloody hell, Gandalf! You can’t just keep this kind of information from us! Someone could have died down there!”

"The nature of the threat that lurks in Moria is not fully known. I thought, perhaps, we might have been able to slip through unnoticed."

"That's a big risk to take" she snapped, voice tailing off at the end and body curling in on itself. Exhausted and cold, Nelwen couldn't sustain her anger for long and it diminished as quickly as it came. Looking at Gandalf almost imploringly, she muttered, “I thought Wizards were supposed to be wise.”

Gandalf looked momentarily offended by her surly outburst but mostly he just looked ashamed. It was not an expression Annamir was used to seeing on her old friend and the sight of it was unsettling.

Without any further attempt at discussion, the foursome tracked back through the snow the way they'd come, heading towards the Gladden Pass and, hopefully, an easier route through the mountain range. Gandalf fell into step alongside Nelwen as she led the way, though neither of them spoke. Gandalf made no attempt to apologise for his reticence regarding Moria; he had never been one for explaining himself. However he did position his body so that it took the full brunt of the storm, shielding the elf's slight form from the winds.


	8. The Anduin Valley

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Awesome Foursome may not have gone to Moria but that doesn't mean it's all easy sailing.
> 
> The start of the section is some interaction between Nelwen and Aragorn. It's mentioned in the Council of Elrond chapter that they know each other and I wanted to expand on that.
> 
> Then things get a bit dark at the end - I guess it's equivalent to when they come across Balin's tomb in Moria.

With the path through Moria discounted, the fellowship was forced to retrace their steps, heading north along the western approach of the Hithaeglir. It was dispiriting to find themselves walking back up the way they had just come and the jovial camaraderie that had typified the start of their journey came to an end. They told no stories when they made camp at night, only huddled close to stay warm, and Nelwen didn’t feel particularly inclined to sing. She could think of no song in the languages of elves or men capable of improving her mood.

The fellowship climbed the pass at the source of the Sir Ninglor with little incident and as they came down into the Wilderland, spirits seemed to lift. With the snow behind them, all that could be seen for miles around was the verdant green of the Anduin Valley. For several days they followed the River Goldwater until it fed into the marshlands of Loeg Ningloron. The route through the marsh was flat and gentle, and the fellowship found their pace quicken.

All except Nelwen whose feet were inexplicably clumsy and whose posture bowed as if shouldering a heavy weight. Gandalf had warned her that carrying the Ring of Power was a serious responsibility, that the Ring would take its toll both physically and mentally. But when she’d placed the Ring around her neck, she had felt no different and the Wizard’s warning had been shrugged off. Now her left hand clutched at her tunic where the Ring hung hidden, the skin tingling where metal met flesh. As they walked Loeg Ningloron, the place where the Ring had betrayed Isildur, the Ring hummed and whispered insider her skull. 

Nel wondered whether the Ring remembered.

Falling into step with Aragorn, she wrapped an arm around his. She hoped that to an onlooker it would just look like a gesture of camaraderie between old friends, that Gandalf and Annamir wouldn’t notice how she leant into Aragorn, how she grasped onto his arm almost desperately. Aragorn, for his part, said nothing, only smiled and shouldered her weight without comment.

“Tell me a story, Aragorn,” she said after a long silence.

“What kind of story, my lady?”

“Tell me of the Attack on Umbar.” 

“You know that story well!”

“But I like it when you tell it.”

He gave a resigned chuckle. Aragorn didn’t consider himself to be a great storyteller but he could tell that Nel was tired in both body and spirit. If his stories would lighten her load, then he would share them.

During the reign of Ecthelion II, the realm of Umbar had been a grave seafaring threat to the Southern Fiefs of Gondor. The Corsais not only attacked the Gondorian Navy but trade ships and fishing vessels as well. Ecthelion II therefore tasked his most trusted counselor, a man the people called Thorongil, to tackle this menace. When all was prepared, Thorongil led his small naval task force into the Gulf of Umbar and, catching the Corsairs unprepared and unaware, they burned and destroyed many of their ships.

The climax of the battle came when Thorongil cornered the Captain of Umbar upon the quays and engaged him in a duel. The Captain’s curved daggers danced through the air but Thorongil, seeing a gap in his defences, thrust forward with his sword and felled the Captain. The forces of Gondor were victorious, having suffered few losses, and the Umbar threat was defeated. Thorongil, his task completed, took a boat and crossed the Anduin River, leaving his companions and heading towards the Mountains of Shadow for purposes unknown except to the man himself.

Nelwen had been lazily smiling as he’d spoke, her head resting against his shoulder. She gave a thoughtful hum once he’d finished, looked up at him through her eyelashes. “I’m not convinced by this Thorongil character,” she announced with a knowing smirk.

“No?” asked Aragorn.

“No – leaving his friends alone in the Anduin valley to go cavorting through the mountains seems terribly rude. Although I guess I shouldn’t be surprised by the capriciousness of humans.” She needled him in the ribs with her elbow. “You better not get any ideas and leave us here next to the Anduin.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” he replied with a laugh.

As they crested a berm at the edge of the marsh, the pair came to an abrupt stop. They had stumbled across some sort of makeshift camp, the haphazardly erected tents dwarfed by the golden irises that grew taller than men in the fertile soil of the marshland. Scattered between the tents lay scores of broken bodies, limbs akimbo, gazes unwavering and empty. Dead men, shoulders broad and necks thick, still held tightly to the pommels of their swords. Among the men lay women and children, their faces streaked with tears and their tiny limbs splintered by the trampling of armoured boots.

Nelwen felt sick.


	9. Orcs in the Marsh

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We finally reach some action! It turns out I really like writing fight scenes.

Annamir had seen too many travesties in her short life. She had been at the fall of Osgiliath, when the forces of Mordor had decimated the forces of Gondor and destroyed the last bridge across the Anduin. She had seen the land of the Beornings aflame, watched the thick black clouds rise over the Ford of Carrock and smelt the acrid stench of burning flesh. She had held her father’s hand as he lay in the shadow of Emyn Arnen, gasping for breath through bloody lips, just another dying ranger with an orcish blade buried in his sternum.

Standing with the dead in the mud at her feet, Anna felt neither sadness nor anger, just wearied resignation. She noticed the stricken look on Nelwen’s face and supposed that she had seen little of death while safely ensconced in Rivendell.

While the rest of the fellowship stood silently at the edge of the devastation, Anna picked her way through the wreckage of lost lives. A jaunty glint of gold caught her attention and Anna knelt down, picked up a broken belt buckle from the muddy ground, and turned it between her fingertips to watch the midday sun dance across the raised surface. Mesmerised by the light skipping across the carved metal, Anna didn’t notice the elf crouching by her side until Nel interrupted her quiet contemplation by asking, “who are these people?”

“How should I know?” Anna snapped, inexplicably annoyed by Nelwen’s interruption.

Anna’s tone was a warning to leave her alone but Nelwen was angry and tired and bit back, “I thought Rangers knew these things.”

“What do you want from me, elf?! Rangers read the land; they’re not omniscient!" 

“These are Northmen from the Dales,” interrupted Aragorn, now himself crouching in the mud next to one of the dead. 

Annamir glared daggers at the back of Aragorn’s head, trying to ignore Nel’s look of smug condescension. How the hell did he know that? “How can you possibly know that?” asked Anna.

“Their weapons are dwarven-made; they bear the mark of Erebor. The men of the Dales have a close relationship with the Kingdom in the Mountain.”

“What are they doing here? We are far from the Dales,” asked Nel.

“The Easterlings assault the Wilderlands without pause,” explained Aragorn as he gingerly closed the eyes of a vacantly staring child. “These families were probably trying to reach their distant kin in Rohan. They were clearly… intercepted.” 

“By whom?” asked Nel, her voice slightly wavering. 

Aragorn pulled an arrow from one of the bodies, closely inspected its fletching and head. “Orcs.”

That orcs were responsible for the carnage before them had been obvious to Annamir the moment they had stumbled upon the camp. The broad gashes in the bodies were distinct, made by the unevenly serrated blades favoured by the orcs of Dol Guldur. And the footprints in the marshland suggested a chaotic attack from all sides, matching the orcs’ preferred tactic of overwhelming force over tactical assault. See! Annamir’s ranger skills were perfectly fine!

Whether it was the sight of senseless death, or Aragorn’s irritatingly superior knowledge of Rhovanion, or the elf’s smug face that did it, but something inside Anna suddenly snapped and she found herself spoiling for a fight. "Great – orcs. Of course we were going to encounter orcs this close to Dol Guldur. Whose stupid idea was it to come this way?” she turned on the elf, “oh that's right - yours."

Nel looked briefly taken aback by the accusation but soon rallied herself to face down Anna’s rage. "Well it's not like we had a plethora of better options. What would you have done? Between the trolls of Ettenmoore, the demon in Moria, Saruman in the South and orcs in Anduin, I'm going to go with Orcs! At least we’re in the green, pleasant lands of Anduin, not trying to pick our way across treacherous mountaintops or through the impenetrable darkness of unending mines.” 

"Ah yes - because there's nothing I like more than admiring a picturesque vista while being bludgeoned by orcs."

"As a ranger, surely you yourself are talented at bludgeoning. I'm beginning to wonder what ranger talents you _do_ possess. Or perhaps you simply call yourself a ranger to excuse your sartorial choices and lack of apparent personal grooming."

"I don't bludgeon... I stab... with **_finesse_**!" 

Annamir was expecting another retort but the elf instead fell silent, standing stock-still, her head slightly cocked to the side. From the edge of the camp, Gandalf looked concerned by Nel’s sudden silence and stepped towards her.

“Someone is coming,” Nel finally announced, her nose scrunched in consternation, as if annoyed that someone had had the audacity to interrupt her while she was opinionating.

“Who?” asked Gandalf with evident concern. 

“I don’t know,” she snapped, “their footfalls are loud and clumsy; they are not elves.” 

“Orcs or men?!” Anna demanded, her own concern growing 

“You’re the ranger! You tell me!” 

Anna’s patience was gone, “from which direction do they approach?!”

Nel indicated to the north, the rage draining from her face to make way for her growing fear. Annamir and Aragorn stepped forward to face whatever was advancing, drawing their swords. Behind the two rangers, Gandalf readied his staff and Nelwen notched an arrow to her bow. Anna could see the arrow shake in the elf’s hands – shit.

The rumble came quietly at first then crescendoed into a mighty crash as the orcs burst through the reeds and rushes. Metal clashed with metal as Annamir and Aragorn surged forward to face the enemy. From her safe distance, Nel sent arrows methodically flying towards the orcs as they emerged from their obscurity among the reeds. Gandalf chanted low and steady, using magic to slow the orcs’ onslaught and prevent them from overpowering the meager fellowship. Aragorn, tall and steady, stood his ground while bringing his great-sword down in straight, solid hits. Conversely, Anna never stood still, weaving through the wave of attackers, the narrow point of her long-sword penetrating plate and chainmail alike. She struck with precision, taking advantage of weak spots and constantly moving out of striking range to make up for her small stature. 

Annamir felt _good_. For too long had she been merely travelling: walking to Rivendell, dredging through the snow up Caradhras, marching through the Gladden Pass, picking her way through the muddy waterways of the Gladden Fields. Her limbs had become stiff, her fingers twitchy. Now, finally, **_finally_** , she was moving, lithe and alert and deadly. She was almost enjoying herself. Almost. Then Nelwen shouted out a warning about a troll and Annamir found herself lurching unexpectedly to the left as a club hit her soundly in the stomach. Fuck – that hurt.

Smeared into the muddy ground, Anna ignored the empty faces of those already slain, staring at her expectedly. She would not be joining them, not today. As she pushed her bruised body from the waterlogged ground, she tried to take stock of their predicament. Aragorn was facing down the troll, which meant that Anna’s stomach was mercifully spared a second assault for now. Meanwhile Gandalf was holding back the tide of orcs with wide sweeps of his staff and white arches of magic that made Anna’s teeth tingle whenever they made contact. At the rear of the group, Nelwen was urgently backing up while firing arrow after arrow. Her rate of fire had slowed and the trembling in her hands was beginning to affect her aim. Anna gave her body another push; she had to get to her soon before the stupid, argumentative, conceited elf got herself killed. Not that she didn’t deserve it; but the quest to destroy the Ring wasn’t going to end now because the Ring Bearer got herself hacked to death by marauding orcs.

Anna had just managed to stumble upright when Nelwen stopped firing and returned her bow to her back. What the hell was she doing?! Nel ducked and darted forward, barely missing numerous orc blades as she sped across the clearing. She approached Bill the horse, bucking in circles and whinnying in distress at the edge of the battle, and swiftly mounted him before riding off into the tall rushes. 

The coward! She’s bloody scarpered!

Anna twisted the pommel of her blade in her hand, testing the weight of the long-sword and steeling herself before returning to the fray. Annamir was no sheltered elf; she had orcs to eviscerate.


	10. Troll Fighting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The fellowship might not have gone to Moria but I still wanted them to fight a troll!

Annamir dove to the left as the troll’s massive club came down, hitting the marshland with a slick thud. With the club firmly entrenched in the mud, Aragorn took advantage of the opportunity, stepping forward and jabbing the creature in his armpit in an attempt to disarm him. The troll gave an anguished yell but did not let go of his club, merely tugging it from the bog with a squelch and swinging it at the human. Aragorn was too slow, took the club squarely to his chest, and went flying through the air until he hit a nearby rocky outcropping and dropped to the ground like a child’s ill-favoured toy. Annamir leapt at the troll from behind, burying her long-sword between its shoulder blades and holding on desperately as the troll reared and bucked in an attempt to dislodge her. She fell from his back, her long-sword leaving a ragged gash in the troll’s back as she dropped. The wound oozed, coating her hands and the front of her armour in troll blood, and permeating the air with a foul, stale stench.

As she hit the ground, she saw Aragorn stagger to his feet and return to his assault on the troll. At the edge of her vision she could see the whirling grey of Gandalf’s robes as he continued to hold back the orcish onslaught. His face looked grave and Annamir was tempted to make some witty comment reminding him of their time hunting cave trolls at Mount Gundabad. In an uncharacteristic moment of maturity, Anna decided that it wasn’t the time for troll humour.

Pulling herself from the ground once more, Annamir felt a distinctive twinge in her chest – ah, a few broken ribs. Taking a step forward, she crumpled to the ground with an embarrassingly shrill shout of pain. A twisted ankle too then. She shook her head, as if she could shake away the pain, and rolled her shoulders. She had fought with worse injuries, and the troll was in a sorry state as well. She just needed a few more good hits and then the troll would be down, and all she would have to contend with was the unending stampede of bloodthirsty orcs. She let out a laugh, surprising herself at how unhinged she sounded.

Aragorn was hacking determinedly at the trolls legs, strafing aside intermittently to avoid the crushing weight of the troll’s club. With his attention fully on Aragorn, the troll hadn’t noticed that Anna was back on her feet. Annamir rushed forward, a newfound determination fuelling her steps even against the protests of her ankle. With a fierce roar, she clambered the beast’s massive frame until they were face-to-face, then pushed her long-sword down into the junction between neck and shoulder. The troll’s mouth opened in a scream but no noise came out; Anna must have punctured the windpipe. Instead blood, black like pitch, erupted upwards like a fountain and the mighty creature staggered forward and finally crumpled to the ground. Annamir pushed herself back with all the strength she could muster to avoid being crushed by the troll’s massive weight as he fell. Sprawled on her back in the mud, Annamir drank in deep lungful’s of air as she desperately tried to catch her breath. The troll was defeated but the orcs still came, their beady eyes staring gleefully at her prone form. 

Oh fuck.

Suddenly a volley of arrows flew through the air and a throng of orcs immediately hit the ground. From her position splayed on the floor, Annamir couldn’t really see what was happening but the first volley was followed by another and then another, until the air hummed with continuous arrow fire. The orc hordes finally stopped advancing, instead retreating into the rushes and disappearing into the marshland as quickly as they arrived.

When she was finally able to twist her body and sit up, Anna was faced with a unit of elven archers, longbows in hand and wearing grey hooded cloaks. Among their numbers was Nelwen, who, with her abnormally small stature and shock of dark curls, stood out starkly among the tall, fair archers. Ah, so she hadn’t fled, merely gone to fetch reinforcements. Annamir felt mildly guilty for cursing her cowardice so vehemently.

Aragorn, looking surprisingly sprightly for someone who only moments before had become intimately acquainted with a rockface, stepped forward to great the elves and a conversation broke out in elvish. Gandalf looked relieved and grateful at the elves’ arrival but also, Anna noted, somewhat apprehensive. Carefully treading over the bodies of orc and Northmen, Gandalf came to Annamir’s side. He held out the end of his staff to his old friend and, with a strength that one did not expect from someone who looked so old and frail, pulled her to her feet.

“Thank you, old friend,” she said, shaking Gandalf’s hand. With a nod in the direction of the new arrivals, she continued, “who are the guys with the hair?”

“They are the elves of Lorien. Hopefully we can seek refuge at Lothlorien before continuing our journey south.”

“Hopefully?”

“They do not take kindly to strangers,” Gandalf explained, looking at Annamir pointedly.

As Anna and Gandalf approached the elves, she could hear that Aragorn was not just talking with the elf who appeared to be leader but in fact arguing fiercely. Nel stood quietly to the side, looking chastised but also _hurt_.

“What seems to be the problem here?” Anna asked as way of a greeting.

The boss elf looked perturbed by her interruption; Anna smiled at him broadly.

“Aragorn of the Dunedain has asked that we provide shelter for your fellowship under the golden boughs of Lorinand. But I sense that you carry great evil with you. I cannot risk inviting this evil into Caras Galadhon”

Nelwen shifted uncomfortably at his words, her left hand clutching at her tunic and the Ring underneath. It was odd watching the normally formidable elf fold in on herself and Annamir felt strangely sorry for her. Gandalf and Aragorn continued to argue with the elf in clipped elven tones. Annamir huffed at being excluded from the conversation but watched in curiosity as Nelwen’s expression shifted from one of shame to one of anger. Finally, Nel interrupted. 

“You are right, Haldir, there _is_ great evil here, but it is not I that carry it. Eryn Galen has fallen into shadow, Saruman has sided with Sauron, and the orcs of Dol Guldur terrorise the Anduin Valley! There is evil here that long predates our arrival. We left Rivendell some months ago on an important quest and we stand before you now, tired and injured. Either you help us, mellonamin, or you help Sauron. That is your choice; make it quick.”

Suitably admonished, Haldir ducked his head at her words and turned to his men. “To Lorien,” he commanded.


	11. The Fellowship Arrives at Lothlorien

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a very short chapter to introduce Lothlorien. The next one is more eventful. The books describe Lorien as bathed in gold and sunlight whereas the films went for a more silvery, moonlit look. I've gone with the book description.

The thick trunks of the mallorn trees rose around them in all directions, their sturdy boughs laced with walkways and white, steepled buildings. Even though the canopy of leaves was thick, the sun still shone through, reflecting off the golden bark to illuminate the elven city. Cut crystal lamps hung from branches, marking walkways through the dense foliage.

As the fellowship rose from the forest floor into the dizzying heights of Caras Galadhon, the sound of singing, both elven and songbird, began to permeate the air. It has been nearly a hundred years since Nelwen had last stepped foot in Lorien and she was beginning to regret the long absence. Rivendell was home but there was a peace in Lorien that could not be found anywhere else in Middle Earth. For several lifetimes of men she had studied in the great university of Laurelindorenan and she counted several of the Silvan elves among her greatest friends and teachers. 

When at last they reached the House of Celeborn and Galadriel, Nelwen suddenly became nervous, painfully aware of the burden she carried around her neck. Haldir’s reaction to her in the valley had hurt; she had long considered him a close friend. Now she wondered how Celeborn and Galadriel would react to her arrival. Her thoughts were cut short when the couple, bathed in light, descended to greet the small group of travellers. Impeccably dressed in silks and velvets of silver and white, Celeborn and Galadriel had an unearthly quality about them and an aloofness which surpassed even other elves. Nel ineffectually smoothed down her hair and patted at her soiled leathers. She didn’t know whether it was comforting or mortifying that the humans looked even more of a state than she.

“The enemy knows you have entered here,” began Celeborn, “what hope you had in secrecy is now gone. Gandalf, it is good to see you, I have long desired to speak with you.” Gandalf nodded in response, “it is good to see you too, I fear we have much to discuss.” 

Galadriel watched the fellowship as Celeborn spoke, noting their hunched postures and stiff bearings. “Don’t let the horrors you have witnessed overcome you hearts,” she said with her gently melodic voice. “You are safe within the borders of Lothlorien. Let this place be a place of peace.”

Annamir held tightly onto her broken ribs, wheezing slightly with every breath, and Aragorn stood tall but crooked as he tried to keep his weight off of his left leg. The troll had taken his toll on them and they must have seemed a sorry sight to the elven queen. 

“Your quest stands upon the edge of a knife,” Galadriel continued, a touch melodramatically, “stray just a little and you will fail, to the ruin of all. Yet hope remains while your company remains true. Do not let your hearts be troubled, go now and rest. Tonight, you will sleep peacefully.”

At Galadriel’s words, several elven stewards stepped forward to lead the fellowship towards hearty meals and comfortable beds. Only Gandalf remained, standing with Celeborn and Galadriel while speaking in grave, hushed tones. Nel found this disconcerting, or at least she would have had she not been so preoccupied with thoughts of bathing.


	12. Gondor's Sacrifice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Annamir and Aragorn get argumentative. Their relationship gets worse before it gets better.
> 
> I always thought Boromir said some pretty sensible stuff about the men of Gondor sacrificing their lives while the rest of Middle Earth continues as normal. So I have Annamir some of Boromir's lines so that point of view was not lost just because Boromir is not a point of view character in this version of the story.

Caras Galadhon, Annamir concluded, was a silly place. As Anna had dragged her broken ankle up the seemingly never-ending walkways to the House of Celeborn and Galadriel, she had come to the conclusion that the city of Lorien was immensely impractical. Which is really saying something since Annamir hailed from a city comprised of concentric circles. And while the suspended walkways were an impressive feat of structural engineering, looping between the tree branches like garlands of silver ribbon, why didn’t they have fences? Surely this was a serious safety concern! What happened when people got drunk? Did elves not get drunk? Now that was a dismal thought; what was the point of elven immortality when you can’t partake in a good piss-up? No wonder elves were always so surly. Annamir’s mind raged with many questions; clearly Lothlorien was making her philosophical. Or perhaps it was a side effect of the elven healing which had left her ribs and ankle feeling oddly tingly but otherwise like new. The lingering tiredness in her limbs was the only reminder of the months of travel and grueling battle she had just endured.

The fellowship had been given use of a small clearing in the centre of the city, with a small, clear stream for drinking, and plush, soft grass on which to place their bedrolls. At first Annamir had been somewhat annoyed that they hadn’t been offered actual beds but following further consideration she was relieved to have her feet firmly on the ground, where they belonged.

A jaunty elven song drifted down from the branches overhead but Annamir barely heard it as she paced near the edge of the clearing. Aragorn watched her from the corner of his eye for some time as he sharpened his blade before finally putting down his sword and whetstone and approaching her, taking gentle steps as if Annamir was a wild animal he did not wish to startle. “Take some rest, these borders are well protected,” he said when he was at her side.

“I will find no rest here,” replied Anna. Aragorn looked surprised at her comment but did not press her to continue. After a time, Anna confessed, “I heard her inside my head, the lady of Lorien. She spoke of the fall of Gondor. She said that even now there is hope left. But if there is hope, it is hard to see – it is long since we had any hope in Gondor. The Steward of Gondor loses grip on his sanity with every passing day. His people are losing faith. When Gandalf summoned me to Rivendell, I thought he had a way of saving my people. But instead I find myself traipsing across Middle Earth on a quest that few believe will succeed. Just now, the rulers of Lorien tell us that our quest is doomed, that we court ruin with every step.”

Anna stopped pacing and buried her head in her hands. She could feel Aragorn’s eyes upon her, hated how exposed she felt. Too many times throughout their months of travel had Annamir heard Aragorn express distaste regarding the blood that ran through his veins, the blood of Isildur. He saw men as weak, susceptible to the lure of power. Anna supposed he had spent too much time in Rivendell.

“Sometimes I wonder why I am here. Why I do not fight alongside my brothers. What am I _doing here_ , listening to birdsong and staring into reflective pools like some fucking philosopher?!”

“We are on an important quest. It is only by destroying the Ring of Power that Gondor, that all of Middle Earth, can be made safe! There is no shame in taking rest. We need to restore our strength if we are to be victorious against the darkness of Mordor.”

“And what if we _do_ succeed? What does it matter if the whole of Gondor already lies in ruin? If there is no soul left alive in Gondor? I can succeed at this quest and still lose… _everything_!”

“Then so be it. The Ring _must_ be destroyed.”

“ ‘Then so be it’?! ” spat Annamir with disgust. She rounded on Aragorn, jabbing an accusatory finger into his chest. “That’s easy for _you_ to say! You, who has been happily ensconced in the First Homely House. The elves of Rivendell and Lorien get to flounce around with their music and their sunlit glades and their _hair_ because Gondorian soldiers are sacrificing their lives every day! Only by the blood of _my_ people are these lands kept safe!”

She remembered the spires of Osgiliath dashed to the ground, broken limbs of a dying city. She remembered the faces of her fallen comrades, forever frozen, twisted in wretched fear. She remembered the shriek of the Nazgul, so piercing it made her eyesight swim.

She thought her outburst might provoke some anger from Aragorn; she was a little disappointed when instead he just looked at her with his usual calm visage. “I understand why you think this of me. I assure you, I feel strongly for the plight of our people. But this war goes far beyond merely Gondor. For many years I have travelled, from the northern Emyn Muil, across the northern edges of Fangorn Forest and into the heart of Mirkwood. I have seen the darkness of Mordor grow to consume _all_ lands. I have seen spiders as large as horses stealing the Greenwood light, seen orcs and goblins sack the villages of Rhovanion before retreating to their fortress at Dol Guldur. It is not that I am insensitive to the plight of our brothers; I’m merely trying to keep things in perspective. It is the only way that I can focus on our quest.”

Perspective? Anna didn’t care about perspective, didn’t care about giant spiders encroaching on the kingdom of the Mirkwood elves, or the nameless Dalesmen dying in their villages, all she cared about was her home.

She shook her head – that wasn’t true. She _did_ care. Because that was why she had answered Gandalf’s letter. That was why she _always_ answered Gandalf’s letters, why she had hunted cave-trolls with him in the Mountains of Angmar, why she had helped relocate villagers after the Swanfleet River burst its banks, why she had slain dragons with him in the Grey Mountains. Because there were people suffering outside the borders of Gondor and she could help, _was good at helping_ , and so she did.

Her anger having subsided, Aragorn’s placid countenance no longer irritated Annamir and she looked squarely into his eyes when she asked, “have you ever seen it, Aragorn? The towers of Osgiliath, glimmering like burning silver? The proud banners unfurling in the wind?”

“I have seen the white city – long ago.”

“One day, our paths will lead us there. And the tower guards will give out the call, ‘the Lords of Gondor have returned!’ “

Aragorn didn’t respond, merely smiled one of his sad smiles. Annamir could tell that he did not believe Osgiliath capable of restoration; his scepticism was writ across his face. And while she would never admit it, his doubt bothered her. Because, unlike many of her fellow Gondorians, Annamir did believe in restoring the line of Isildur to the throne in Minas Tirith. She wanted to see a great man sit upon the throne, a man capable of rebuilding a broken kingdom, a man capable of reforging the relationships between men, a genuine leader around whom the people could rally. If Aragorn could not see that the race of men was worthy of his consideration, then she would just have to change his mind. 


	13. Galadriel's Mirror

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I always thought the scene in the film with Galadriel's mirror was kind of weird. So I liked writing Nelwen talking back to Galadriel, questioning her motives.
> 
> Galadriel calls Nelwen, Nelladel, which is an after-name/ honorific, like Arwen Undomiel.

Nelwen had always been an excellent sleeper. It was an odd skill to brag about but over her 800-years of living she had gradually come to realise that it was a truly invaluable talent. While others complained of fitful sleep leading to unproductive days, Nelwen could smugly declare that she had never had a bad night’s sleep. And she could find restful sleep anywhere: propped upright in a rickety wagon, curled up on her favourite windowsill in the Rivendell library, even wedged between rocky moraine that one time she foolhardily decided to summit Dwimorberg (Haldir had said it would be an adventure; Haldir was an idiot). And so it was with great consternation that Nel found herself tossing and turning on the plush floor of the Lothlorien clearing. Perhaps she had become too accustomed to hard ground and biting wind; perhaps the grass of Lorien was too soft, the gentle breeze too temperate, the songs of birds too calming. 

Deciding that there was little to be gained from lying on the ground and staring impatiently at the leafy canopy above, Nelwen rose from her bedroll and walked away from their clearing with no particular destination in mind. Her heavy leathers were replaced with a silken dress of powdered blue, and for the first time in months, she walked barefoot. It had been a long time since she had felt so unencumbered and she marveled at her increased agility, at the lightness of each step.

After walking for a time, Nelwen came across Galadriel, standing at the head of a staircase as if she had long been expecting Nel’s arrival. Perhaps she had. Galadriel gave no greeting, made no gesture, but as she descended the staircase, Nelwen knew she was to follow. With each careful step, Nel entered a small, sunken glade. It was surrounded with a circle of downcast statues holding glowing crystal lanterns and in the centre stood a low, carved pedestal. At the far end of the glade, a small stream tumbled down across knotted roots before disappearing underground. Galadriel bent down with a silver jug to capture some of the falling water before turning to face Nel with the same expectant look as before. Nel just looked at her with confusion. She had always found Galadriel intimidating, but never outright cryptic.

“Will you look into the mirror?” asked Galadriel.

Nelwen was a vain creature, had happily looked into many a mirror, but somehow felt like this was a trick question. “What will I see?” she asked, embarrassed by the slight waver in her voice. 

“The wisest cannot tell. For the mirror shows many things,” Galadriel poured the water from the jug into a wide, shallow plate lying on the pedestal, “things that were, things that are, and some things that have not yet come to pass.”

Well that was unhelpfully vague.

With poorly hidden trepidation, Nelwen stepped forward to regard the mirror. At first the flat surface of water showed nothing but her own confused face. Then, one-by-one, her companions’ faces appeared, all showing the telltale signs of fatigue and growing hopelessness. Then she saw Rivendell: the glittering falls of the Bruinen River; the white, tree-lined roads winding between tall, elegant buildings; the gardens filled with fragrant flowers at every street corner. For the first time since their journey began, Nelwen felt homesick. Then the water seemed to sizzle and spit as Rivendell was consumed by fire before her eyes. The streets were trampled by the armoured boots of orcs, the elegant spires were pulled to the ground, and the gardens were filled with burning bodies. Nel found herself strangely transfixed by the horrible images before her and as she watched her home burn, the chain around her neck started to weigh heavier.

With great effort she stepped back from the mirror, grasping at the Ring under the neckline of her dress and praying for the whispering in her head to stop. She looked up at Galadriel, confusion and pain evident on her face. She thought of Galadriel as a teacher and a friend, why would she bring her here, show her these things, stare at her so coldly?

After a long silence, Galadriel said, “I know what it is you saw for it is also in my mind. It is what will come to pass should you fail. The fellowship is breaking; it has already begun. One-by-one, the Ring will consume them all.”

She paused, stared at Nelwen with a strange intensity then spoke so softly it was almost a whisper, “she will try to take it. You know of whom I speak.”

Nelwen furrowed her brow, feeling strangely angered by Galadriel’s criticism of the fellowship. Sure they were a somewhat disheveled bunch but they had reached Lothlorien relatively unscathed and there was no reason to believe that misfortune would imminently befall them. “With all due respect, my lady, you are wrong. You think the race of man is weak, that they too easily give in to their lust for power. But I know the men with whom I travel far greater than you, even with all your wisdom and insight. They will not take the ring. They will help me bear this burden because they know that I cannot do it alone. 

“You are a Ring Bearer – to bear a ring of power is to be alone,” Galadriel answered, looking down at Nenya wistfully.

Nelwen was finding this conversation increasingly frustrating. Galadriel spoke with her usual solemn, even tone, as if imparting some great wisdom to the young elf. But Nelwen found no wisdom in Galadriel’s words, only defeatism. Galadriel didn’t know her companions; Galadriel didn’t know what it felt like to carry the Ring of Power.

“I don’t understand why you warn me so. What is it you want of me? Do _you_ want the Ring?” asked Nel, slowly unclasping the chain from around her neck and holding out the Ring.

Galadriel looked startled but stepped forward to peer at what Nel held ensconced in her hand. “You offer it to me freely? I do not deny that my heart has greatly desired this.” Galadriel’s voice crescendoed to an uncharacteristic boom, “with this power I will wield a queenly might, towering like the mallorn of Valinor! As eternal and terrible as the dawn! Stronger than the foundations of the earth! All who look upon me will exalt and despair!”

Nelwen quickly stepped back at Galadriel’s outburst, curling her fingers over the Ring to obscure it from view. Galadriel herself stepped back, eyes wide and breath laboured, clearly startled by her momentary frenzy. 

“I pass the test,” she announced, the corners of her mouth tugging upwards in a poor facsimile of a smile.

Nelwen scrunched up her nose with disapproval; Galadriel still didn’t understand. “There is no _one_ test. Every day the Ring whispers to me. Every day I don’t listen. Every day the fellowship doesn’t take the Ring from me. Every day, a _hundred_ little tests. You have succeeded this night; my companions have succeeded for many months. Don’t underestimate us.”

Galadriel’s smile became genuine then, “so much wisdom from one so young, Nelladel. You hold such strong convictions. I hope you are right and that you succeed in your quest. Should you fail, no one else can finish what you have begun. This I have seen.”

For the first time that night, Nel felt herself warming to Galadriel, realising that her old teacher was speaking out of concern, not just to scare her. She stepped forward and pulled Galadriel into a hug. “I will not fail. For you have shown me what will happen if I do. Besides, you have always called be proud, and I am too proud to fail.”

Galadriel chuckled; her student was hopeless.


	14. The Breaking of the Fellowship

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This section is a bit talk-y but the fellowship needs to discuss what to do next. But we're fast approaching Amon Hen and the epic Uruk-hai showdown, which is very exciting!

After a few weeks of recuperating in Lothlorien, the fellowship gathered in Celeborn’s study to plan the next leg of their journey. Fully healed and well rested (and adequately bathed, Nel noted with pleasure), they gathered around a large circular table with the lord and lady of the forest, and a few select elvish watchguards, to inspect the large map laid out in front of them. Discussions were lively. Annamir favoured following the Anduin Valley to the Eastfold and then travelling the Great West Road to Minas Tirith. The route was over easy ground, which meant that their progress would be swift, and the Great West Road was patrolled by soldiers of Gondor, which meant that aide would be close at hand should they come under attack. Gandalf and Aragorn were reluctant to go so close to the capital of Gondor, instead preferring to approach Mordor from the Dead Marshes. Nelwen said little; it had been many hundreds of years since she had last travelled so far south and she felt unable to contribute to the debate.

“Every league you travel south, the danger will increase,” said Celeborn. “Mordor orcs now hold the eastern shore of the Anduin. Nor will you find safety on the western banks. Strange creatures bearing the white mark of Saruman have been seen on our borders. Seldom do orcs journey in the open under the sun, yet these creatures have done so. By following the river you have the chance of outrunning the enemy to the Falls of Rauros.”

“You are being tracked,” continued Haldir, “and not only by orcs. Since your arrival our patrols have spied a strange creature. Always evading capture, he skulks in the shadows under the roots of the mallorn trees.”

“It is Gollum,” said Gandalf matter-of-factly, “he’s been following us since Caradhras.”

“He escaped Barad Dur?” asked Nelwen. Elrond and Gandalf had explained the part Gollum had played in the Ring’s history before the fellowship had left Rivendell. How he had once been a hobbit. How the Ring had twisted him into something cruel and starving. How he had been captured by the allies of Sauron and tortured until he’d given them the location of the Ring. The thought of this pitiable creature made Nel’s skin crawl.

“Escaped, or was set loose,” answered Gandalf. “Now the Ring has drawn him here. He will never be rid of his need for it. He hates and loves the Ring, as he hates and loves himself.”

“If he is seen again within our borders, we will kill him,” said Haldir.

“Kill him? It is not to us to pass judgement on his life. My heart tells me that Gollum has some part to play yet, for good or evil, before this is over.”

The assembled group fell silent, whether contemplating the fate of poor Gollum, the orcs threatening the borders of Lorien, or the perilous journey awaiting the fellowship. 

“So we’re agreed,” said Nel, interrupting the gloom that had taken hold of the study; “we follow the Anduin to Emyn Muil. Then east across Nindalf. Aragorn knows the marshes well so hopefully we will not lose our way.” Nel could tell from the way Annamir was frowning that she disapproved of their route. Well tough. While it was common for Annamir and Aragorn to disagree, this time Gandalf was on Aragorn’s side. “We will gather tomorrow morning at the docks. We leave at first daylight.”

“Wait,” said Gandalf as they were all preparing to leave. “You three will follow this path. I’m afraid I must take another.”

Nelwen felt her stomach drop. So this was what Galadriel had meant when she said that the fellowship was about to break apart. This was why Gandalf and Celeborn had been having private meetings. She had felt so much bravado in the glade, telling Galadriel that no force could tear the fellowship asunder. Now she felt rather foolish.

“For many nights have Celeborn and I discussed the threat of Saruman. These creatures spied on the borders of Lothlorien, bearing the white hand, are no mere orc but something fiercer, the Uruk-hai. The fellowship cannot hope to succeed with Mordor attacking from the east and Isengard from the west. I must head to Fangorn Forest in the hope that I may still find some allies there. Then I can turn my attentions to Isengard and seek to crush Saruman’s foul influence. If I can alleviate your burden even a little, then I have succeeded.”

It was obvious that the fellowship felt uneasy at the departure of one of their number. They were already so few that the loss of one would be keenly felt. But Gandalf’s words made sense and none made to argue with him. They had little hope of surmounting both the strength of Mordor and Isengard.

The fellowship returned to their clearing and gathered around the campfire, telling stories and laughing like old friends. Annamir regaled them all with tales of dragon hunting, complete with extravagant gesticulations. Nelwen eyed the human suspiciously, unsure of whether to believe the farfetched tales. Even with Gandalf acting as witness, it was not impossible that he was colluding with the human in her falsehood. Fallacy or not, the stories were entertaining and Nel decided that, for tonight, that was enough.


	15. Rowing down the Anduin Valley

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The remaining three members of the fellowship travel south along the Anduin River. 
> 
> This section exists mainly so we don’t forget about Gollum. He doesn’t show up for a really long time in this version of the story but I wanted the audience to be aware of his existence so his appearance doesn’t just come out of nowhere

The three remaining members of the fellowship gathered at the docks, Gandalf having departed several hours earlier on Bill, their trusted mount. He had left with little ceremony, only a few solemn goodbyes and a hearty hug from Annamir. A small party of elves had gathered to wish them well on their journey and it suddenly struck Anna that it had been _so long_ since a similar elven party had offered their goodbyes at the gates of Rivendell. Aragorn and Annamir arranged their equipment between the two boats that had been gifted them while they waited for Nelwen to say her farewells to her elven friends. She must have sensed their growing impatience because with one final hug to Haldir, she turned and rejoined her human companions.

With all their supplies accounted for, they pushed away from the riverbanks and the little dove-grey boats glided effortlessly across the glassy waters. Aragorn and Nelwen sat in one boat while Annamir and the majority of their kit sat in another. Annamir hadn’t grown particularly fond of Galadriel during their stay in Lothlorien. She seemed particularly snobbish, even for an elf, and would throw reproachful looks at Annamir as if she was a cat who kept leaving dismembered rodents around the homestead. It was said that Galadriel was so wise she could tell the future; Anna wondered what insult she must bestow upon the lady of Lorien in the future because she certainly hadn’t done anything to warrant such looks. And yet while she didn’t particularly like Galadriel, she was rather chuffed with the gifts the elf had bestowed upon her. The forest green cloak was soft and surprisingly warm, and the elven rope would certainly come in handy. She had been somewhat jealous of the elegant dagger that Galadriel had given Nelwen (it apparently glowed blue when orcs approached, certainly a handy feature). But the dagger she carried on her belt had been a gift from her eldest brother on the occasion of her ninth birthday, it was unlikely she would part with it for any fancy elven weaponry.

The pair of small, grey boats travelled east along the Celebrant until it joined the Great River. From there they travelled south, past the lush Field of Celebrant to the west, and curling around the North and South Undeeps. The wide river was a rich, deep blue that reminded Annamir of the banners that fluttered over her home city. The riverbanks were lined with great, towering trees, many baring Autumnal shades of bronze and copper but many still a startling emerald. Beyond the distant mists, the silver mountaintops of the Emyn Muil could be seen poking their heads over the horizon. The Valley of Gold was indeed as beautiful as she had read in books but the vibrant colours of the Anduin Valley were, to Anna’s eyes, far more worthy of adoration.  

The river was relatively calm which made the rowing steady and easygoing. Under normal circumstances, Anna would have sung a hearty pirate song, but she had felt uneasy since parting from Lorien. As they rowed along the river, there was an eerie silence from the riverbanks; no songs of birds or barks of wolves could be heard. It felt unnatural and put Anna on edge. Her elven companion must have felt the same because she was unusually silent as well.

At night they pulled up to the river’s edge and made camp. They made no campfire, not wishing to draw attention to themselves, and spoke in hushed tones as they ate their elven waybread.

Standing on the bank, the water lapping at the edge of her boots, Annamir stared across the waters, black and clear. She strained to hear the hooting of owls or the larking of nightingales, any sound to give her comfort. But instead all she heard was a slow silence until a log lazily slunk its way down the river’s surface with a soft swish. At first Anna paid it no mind, logs were hardly a novel occurrence on the Great River. But then she noticed it moving, against the current, towards the western shore of the river. She readied her hand on the hilt of her sword.

Aragorn appeared at the water’s edge, placing his hand over her own. “Gollum,” he explained, “he has tracked us since the Gladden Pass. I had hoped we would lose him on the river, but he’s too clever a waterman.”

“If he leads the enemy to our whereabouts, it will make our journey even more dangerous,” responded Annamir.

Nelwen sat, miserable and distant, against a nearby rock. Listening to the humans talk, she looked increasingly nervous. Annamir was beginning to worry; the elf had barely eaten since they had left Lorien and while she had always had a pale complexion, she was beginning to take on a sickly pallor.

The wretched sight of the elf strengthened Annamir’s conviction that they were taking the wrong path; they needed a quicker, safer route. “Aragorn,” Anna called out softly as he retreated to his bedroll, “Minas Tirith is the better route; you _know_ that. From there we can regroup, head out to Mordor from a place of strength.”

“There is no strength in Gondor.”

“You were quick enough to trust the elves! Have you so little faith in your own people? Yes, there is weakness but there is courage also, and honour to be found in men. But you are blind to that!” Aragorn tried to walk away from Anna so she grabbed him by the collar of his tunic; she would not be ignored. “You are afraid! All your life have you hidden in the shadows: ashamed of who you are, of what you are!”

Aragorn swatted away her hand with a sharp slap, stepped forward so his face was mere inches from her own. “I will not lead the Ring within a hundred leagues of your city!” Aragorn spat with uncharacteristic venom.

The two humans stood and stared and seethed. Aragorn stood nearly a foot taller than Annamir but what she lacked in stature she made up for in pure rage as she glared daggers at him. Rage, but also disappointment. This man was her King. How could he think so little of their race?

Aragorn was the first to break their staring match, retreating to the small patch of grass where he had laid out his bedroll and pack. Anna stood a little longer by the water’s edge and looked out across the dark surface of the river. She wondered how many times in their long journey she had wanted to punch Aragorn in the face and marvelled at her ability to restrain herself.


	16. The Argonath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I rowed at uni so the first paragraph is basically just me waxing lyrical about how much I love rowing.
> 
> Then the fellowship makes camp alongside Nen Hithoel and Annamir and Nelwen have a heart-felt chat - because obviously they have to be buddies by the end of the story.

Nelwen had always liked boats. She liked gently paddling down streams under the heavy, arching boughs of willows. She liked reclining with a good book while lazy waves bobbed the boat up and down. But most of all, she liked speeding down a fast-flowing river with the wind whipping her face, skipping so fast across the river’s surface that the boat barely touched the water. She supposed it was the closest she would ever come to knowing what it felt like to fly.

Ten days after leaving Lothlorien, Nelwen was beginning to reevaluate her stance on boats. The Anduin had been smooth as glass at the Field of Celebrant and the boats had slipped soundlessly through the water. But as they neared the Emyn Muil, the river had become more and more turbulent. By the time they had reached the rapids of Sarn Gebir, Nel was glad that she had lost her appetite over a week ago. Luckily, Aragorn was a skilled boatsman and he knew the river well, having travelled the same route recently when tracking Gollum. He was able to navigate the rapids with finesse, chartering a path that would lead both boats to safety.

Nelwen was sitting hunched in the boat, telling her heart to stop hammering in her chest, wishing her skin was not so clammy with sweat, when she felt a gentle tap from Aragorn behind her. “Bell, look, The Argonath! Long have I desired to look upon the kings of old, my kin!”

At his words, she looked up and marveled at the monument before her. Two enormous rock pillars, carved in the likenesses of Isildur and Anarion, flanked the course of the river. Each of the figures held a giant axe in his right hand while his left rose in a gesture of defiance to the enemies of Gondor. Nelwen knew from her reading that the great figures used to mark the northern boundary of the kingdom of Gondor, though they had now stood for a long time in deserted lands. Nelwen had never been particularly impressed with human achievements. The city of Osgiliath, even before its fall, had been grand but not particularly elegant. And Minas Tirith was just a jumble of poor urban planning. But staring at the proud, dignified faces carved hundreds of feet in the air, Nel had to concede that perhaps there was something worthy of note in the monuments of men.

She turned to inform Aragorn of her approval but when she looked upon him, and saw his quiet reverie, she chose to stay silent. It was rare to see her friend look so at peace; she was not going to be the one to interrupt it.

At last they passed The Argonath and entered the lake, Nen Hithoel. Making camp on the western banks, the trio gathered to plan their route for the next leg of their journey. Nelwen’s elven ears told them that orcs patrolled the eastern shores; they would have to wait until nightfall to cross the lake unseen, then travel east through Emyn Muil before attempting to enter Mordor from the north. Annamir’s face was pinched with consternation but she made no further attempts to persuade Aragorn of a different path.

As Aragorn made minor repairs to their boats, Nelwen and Annamir walked up the slopes of Amon Hen in search of firewood. Having finally escaped the confines of the boat, Nel had wanted a short walk to stretch her legs and clear her mind. Preferably, alone. But it was decided that it was too dangerous for Nelwen to wander alone and so she was stuck with the human. At first they had walked in companionable silence, each lost in her own thoughts. But humans breathed so loudly that Nelwen knew quiet contemplation was going to elude her, and so she resigned herself to idle chatter instead. They discussed their mutual love of Gondorian cuisine (excellent sticky buns) and the Belfalas coastline. Annamir offered her some pointers for the next time they found themselves in battle. Nelwen complimented Annamir on her wild-ox horn and inquired whether she was musically inclined. After a lengthy discussion on music, the two fell into silence once more.

Annamir had been staring at Nel for some time, clearly desperate to ask her something but uncertain as to how to broach the subject, when she blurted, “have you ever, you know, put it on?” Annamir gestured lamely at the Ring around Nel’s neck.

“No,” was her simple response.

“Why not?”

“Because it wants me to. Every day, I can hear its whispers under my skin. It wants me to wear it and that is why I never will.”

“It wants to be found.”

“Exactly.”

“You have borne such a heavy burden for so many months. I’m sorry that I have not truly understood your plight before now. No wonder you look so sullen and sallow.”

“Thanks,” Nel said sarcastically in response to Anna’s somewhat backhanded compliment.

“I would be happy to share this burden,” offered Anna with a nonchalant shrug.

Nel stopped in her tracks, looking with mild alarm at Anna. She raised her hand to defensively clasp at the ring where it hung beneath her tunic. Anna, noticing belatedly that Nelwen was no longer walking in step, turned and, observing the look of fear on the elf’s face, raised her hands in a gesture of conciliation. The two women stood stock-still, regarding each other carefully. 

“I promise you, it was an offer harmlessly made. I do not want the Ring; I am merely proposing to carry it for a short time while you regain your strength.”

“You know they warned me against you,” said Nelwen at last, “Galadriel in Lothlorien, even Gandalf, your friend, warned me that you would be tempted by the Ring of Power. They think you are weak because you are of the race of men.”

“And what do you think?”

“I think they don’t know you.”

Annamir chuckled at that, “and you do?”

“Well we’ve been stuck with each other for several months now and you’re hardly one to be cautious with your words. I might find your sartorial choices perplexing and your choice in profession somewhat questionable given your apparent total lack in actual ranger skills – but I know you are no threat to me.”

“You’re an arrogant sod.”

“Ah – see – you know me too.”

Smiles broke into full-throated laughter and the women stepped forward to warmly shake hands. Galadriel had predicted that the fellowship would soon splinter but under the rust-coloured canopy on Amon Hen, Nelwen felt confident that they were stronger than ever.


	17. The Seat of Seeing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finally we reach the Uruk-hai - woohoo!

Nelwen stood at the summit of Amon Hen, the Seat of Seeing at her back. Upon reaching the summit of the hill she had been somewhat bemused to discover the strange, stone chair surrounded by ruined battlements. Her knowledge of human history was extensive but the story of this little monument eluded her and she made a mental note to ask Aragorn its purpose when she got back to camp. She would have to return soon; the humans would be worrying about her. Following their little chat, Annamir had agreed to let Nelwen continue on a short way on her own. More than anything she just wanted some peace and quiet to herself, although with the Ring of Power around her neck, she was soon learning that quiet was impossible. The Ring liked to talk and she was not always successful at ignoring it.

So focused was she on the vista before her, the glassy blue waters of Nen Hithoel, the nearby peaks of Amon Lhaw and Tol Brandir, that Aragorn’s hurried approach from behind made her jump.

“Bell, what are you doing here? I thought we agreed that you would not wander alone.”

“I’m sorry; I did not mean to worry you. I just needed some time to myself. We have been sharing that tiny boat for too long, my friend!” She laughed, hoping her little jest would alleviate the tension between them.

Aragorn continued to look at her stonily. “You shouldn’t be wandering these hills alone. I swore to protect you.”

Her smile faltered at his words; she was unused to being reprimanded. “You promised me your sword but I don’t want your sword, Aragorn. An orc’s blade may still pierce my body no matter how hard you fight. What I want is your friendship. And right now, what I needed was some quiet. But you’re right, I have tarried too long, I will come.”

Aragorn came forward, expression softening, and knelt at her feet. “You have my friendship as readily as you have my sword. And I will give you whatever support you need. I am with you to the end, into the very fires of Mordor." 

She smiled, “I know. Come, let us return.”

Aragorn’s brow knit in sudden concern, and fear flashed briefly before his eyes before it was replaced by his usual stoic determination. “Go, Nelwen!” he commanded, stepping back and unsheathing his sword in a graceful sweep.

Nel stood frozen, not comprehending his sudden change, until she saw the little elven dagger at her belt glowing an eerie blue. Her hand groped at the air at her back. Bugger – she had left her bow at camp.

“Run – run!” Aragorn commanded again and this time Nel obeyed, sprinting with all the speed and agility of an elf into the tree line and down the hill towards the lakeside. For a moment he watched her retreating form before he turned to face the encroaching enemy. Slowly, they emerged from the undergrowth, black figures looming from the dark shadows of the forest. Suddenly, the air was pierced with a rallying cry, and the creatures surged towards the lone human.

Cresting the summit of Amon Hen, wave after wave of Uruk-hai advanced. Never before had Aragorn encountered such creatures but he knew that they were no mere orcs. They were larger than orcs, and darker skinned, with slanting eyes, thick legs and large hands. They carried short, broad-bladed swords and their bows were fashioned not like orcs’ but like those of the race of men, long and sturdy. Encumbered by little armour, they advanced towards Aragorn at great speed, snarling and spitting as they heaved closer.

Aragorn stood his ground.

The Uruk-hai broke around him like a tidal wave upon a great rock. He ducked and weaved through their broad-swords, striking out with quick, hard thrusts. With a grand sweep of his great-sword, half a dozen Uruk-hai went hurling to the ground. Without a moment’s pause, he was upon them, hacking and plunging before any had a chance to recover their footing. As the unrelenting wave of attackers surged forward, he found himself forced up the crumbling stairs of the ruined battlements. The sturdy walls of the ancient ruin funneled the Uruk-hai towards him, allowing him to slay them one-by-one in turn with steady, efficient blows.

From below him he heard a terrible voice bellow, “find the elf!”, and he watched in dismay as the swarm of Uruk-hai turned their attentions from him and started hurtling down the slopes of Amon Hen where Nelwen had disappeared only moments before.

With a desperate cry he threw himself from the battlements onto a detachment of the foul beasts. Even prone on the floor, he drove his sword into the fallen Uruk-hai before scrabbling to his feet and running down the hill. He had _just_ promised her that he would be there for her until the very end; he could not fail her now!


	18. Uruk-hai

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I really like this chapter. In fact I like all the chapters from here to the end of Fellowship. I just really like writing fighting scenes for some reason!
> 
> This is a short chapter. Ends on a cliff-hanger!

Nel ran.

Nel ran as if the very fires of Mount Doom were behind her.

Since receiving the Ring, Nelwen had been abnormally clumsy, her limbs feeling leaden and stiff. Now she dashed across the ground like the deer of the Rivendell valley, darting through the trees like a bird through clouds. She was an elf! And elves were swifter and more agile than any mere orc!

But these were not mere orcs; these were Uruk-hai. And even as she sprinted to the lakeside, she could hear them tearing through the woodland behind her. Hundreds of armoured feet trampled the earth and to her sensitive elven ears it sounded like the very hill was being torn asunder.

Nel was afraid.

Ducking under boughs and flying over fallen logs, she dared not slow for even an instant. Branches tugged at her clothes and clawed at her face as she went crashing through the undergrowth but she barely felt anything over the pounding of fear as it coursed through her body. She crossed a stone bridge over a riverbed long since gone dry and came to an abrupt stop. Streaming down through the trees in front of her came the Uruk-hai of Saruman. She turned to head back over the bridge but saw more foul creatures approaching from that direction as well. She was trapped between two advancing forces and she cursed bitterly at her own stupidity for having left her bow at their camp.

Watching the approaching enemy, she remained frozen where she stood.

With a sound that was half battle-cry and half maniacal laughter, Annamir crashed through the bushes and plunged her long-sword into the nearest Uruk-hai. With an elegance of which Nelwen thought humans incapable, Anna moved swiftly between the marauding Uruk-hai, ducking from enemy blows and piercing exposed flesh with pinpoint accuracy. It would have appeared almost balletic were it not for the sheer ferocity and gusto with which Anna fought.

“Come on then!” Anna shouted to the startled elf as she cleared a path through the Uruk-hai hordes.

The two women worked in tandem as they made their way down the hillside. Annamir cut a swathe through the creatures, alternating between vicious kicks and swift thrusts of her sword to fell their enemies. Nelwen used her small elven dagger to finish off those whom Anna hadn’t quite killed, slitting their throats or nicking the jugular. The two women, small and graceful, wheeled around each other, ducking when the other thrust, twisting when the other punched. And moving, always moving, so that the Uruk-hai never got a clear shot. Nelwen was beginning to feel hopeful; if they could just continue as they were, then maybe, _maybe_ , they would reach the lakeside. Then they could cross the lake and lose their pursuers in the labyrinthine Emyn Muil. 

Standing on a nearby bluff, an Uruk-hai general surveyed the scene before him as he notched an arrow to his bow.


	19. Uruk-hai Arrows Find Their Mark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More Uruk-hai! 
> 
> Only a few chapters to go until the end of Fellowship.

Annamir had many talents. She could kill, dress and cook wild game to an excellent standard. She was a naturally gifted cellist. Contrary to what the elf thought, she was actually a pretty snappy dresser when she wasn’t in armour or travelling leathers (which, she admitted, was rare). But her talent for stabbing things surpassed almost all other talents.

As she twisted and reeled through the woodlands of Amon Hen, Anna was in her absolute element. With the elf at her back, the two of them had fallen into an unexpected rhythem, moving together to hack and slash their way through the seemingly never-ending waves of Uruk-hai. Their movements were graceful but they fought desperate and vicious. Anna’s skills with a sword were rarely matched and she handled her long-sword with finesse and sensitivity. But she was also fond of kicking kneecaps and gouging at eyes. Anyone could learn swordplay techniques and practice proper form but Anna had learnt to fight on the fields of Ithilien; she knew when good form mattered and when a swift kick to the instep mattered more.

She sounded her horn, hoping that Aragorn would follow them to the lakeside where they could escape across the water.

An Uruk-hai, tall and gangly, lurched towards Nelwen and Annamir dashed forward to intercept. She jabbed her elbow into his nose then, when he doubled forward in pain, smashed the pommel of her sword into the base of his skull with a satisfying crack. As the creature fell, she twisted away and punctured an Uruk’s knee-cap with a small dagger in her off hand before pushing the narrow point of her long-sword through the eye-slits of the Uruk’s helmet. She smirked, finding the guttural, wet splutter reverberating from inside the helmet oddly satisfying. She moved again, Nel ducking under her sword arm as she turned, in order to push her sword into the exposed armpit of her next target, when suddenly she heard a dull thuck.

Pain blossomed beneath her left shoulder and Annamir looked down to see an arrow protruding from between the plates of her armour.

Huh.  


A scream, shrill and terrified, rang through the forest and Anna turned to see Nelwen’s stricken face. _Well it’s nice to know that she cares, right?_ Too focused on Anna’s injury, Nelwen didn’t notice the Uruk-hai approaching her from behind. Anna lunged forward, pushing Nel out the way and piercing the beast’s throat with her sword. Her shoulder throbbed with pain and without the full strength of both hands, she struggled to push her sword through the dense flesh.

She heard another thuck and looked down to see a second arrow sticking into her armour. This one hadn’t penetrated down to the skin but the hit distracted her long enough for an Uruk-hai to back-hand her viciously. She sprawled to the ground and was only just able to stab him below his sternum before he brought his massive broad-sword down upon her. That was close. As she staggered to her feet, she saw the massive arms of an Uruk-hai surround the elf’s tiny form and lift her from the ground. Nelwen drove her dagger into his shoulder blade but he merely shrugged off her attack and maintained his hold on her. Annamir lurched forward with her sword but she felt someone kick her in the shin and as she flinched in pain, her sword went wide of its mark.

Oh fuck, was she _losing_?

As the Uruk-hai crowded around her, Anna could only hope to keep up with their assaults. She lunged and kicked with feral intensity but there seemed to be no opening in their attack, no opportunity to move or assert control. She could only stand helplessly, fending off attack after attack, as Nel was carried, kicking and screaming, into the forest.

The circle of attackers parted for a moment and Annamir briefly hoped that this was a break in their offensive, some moment of weakness which she could exploit to her advantage. Anna’s hopes were quickly dashed as she turned to see an Uruk-hai, taller and fiercer than any other, step forward. A broad-sword was strapped to his back but he held a bow in his hands, an arrow already notched. The first two arrows had only been inconveniences but at this close distance, the third would surely kill.

Annamir wondered whether she was supposed to be thinking of something noble. Her father perhaps, or her homeland. Perhaps she should be reciting poetry espousing the glory of Gondor or lamenting lovers she would never again embrace. But Anna could think of no poetry, no noble words, only a string of expletives came to mind as she stared at the arrowhead that would soon be lodged in her cranium (she hoped her cranium, at least then it would be quick and relatively painless).   


Just as the Uruk-hai made to loose his arrow, Aragorn crashed into him from behind. Annamir immediately surged forward, engaging the circle of Uruk-hai that had stopped their assault to watch her supposed execution and were now standing unprepared.

Abandoning his bow, the Uruk-hai general took the broad-sword from his back and clashed swords with Aragorn. Of equal size and strength, the two fighters circled and pushed but neither made significant headway. Circling the general, Aragorn tripped on a root and fell to the ground, his sword skittering to a stop a few feet from where he lay. He rolled to avoid a downward slice from the Uruk-hai’s sword, kicked the sword from the general’s hand and then pulled a small dagger from his boot to plunge into the general’s knee. The beast didn’t even flinch. The hulking Uruk-hai reached down to throttle the human before lifting him from the ground. Aragorn thrashed in his hold, desperately gasping for breath. With a roar, the Uruk-hai threw him to the ground.   


Aragorn hit the ground with a sickening thud; Annamir flinched at the sound. When she risked a glance in his direction, she could see blood streaming from a split lip and his left shoulder sticking out from its socket at a disturbing angle. While she was somewhat preoccupied with her own onslaught of Uruk-hai, she knew that if she didn’t help, Aragorn would not last long. She broke away from her attack and rushed towards Aragorn. She screamed as she felt a sword come down across her back, the skin splitting under her armour and her tunic becoming warm and slick with blood. Still, she pushed forward until she reached Aragorn’s sword where it had fallen. “Aragorn!” she yelled as she threw the sword with all the strength she could muster.

Prone on the ground, Aragorn groped for his sword. When his hand curled around the hilt he pulled himself unsteadily to his feet just in time to block a downward stroke from the general’s broad-sword. With renewed fervour, Aragorn slashed at the Uruk-hai again and again, pushing him back further and further with each step. With a final push, Aragorn sliced off the Uruk-hai’s sword arm and plunged his great-sword satisfyingly into the beast’s fleshy stomach. The creature did not fall, did not even waver, merely stood, grinning eerily at Aragorn with the sword protruding from his front. With a disdainful sneer, Aragorn pulled his sword free once more and swung his weapon full force to decapitate the Uruk-hai in one fell swoop.

The Uruk-hai’s head, nestled between burnished leaves on the forest floor, still grinned.


	20. Let's Hunt Some Orc

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is the end of Fellowship! Continue the story in Two Towers.
> 
> This one’s a bit talk-y. But they need to hash out their plans for what to do next. Get excited for a stirring speech from Anna!
> 
> And there’s a twist at the end! Oooh!

Face bloodied and body gnarled, Aragorn limped toward Annamir where she stood, indefatigable, in the centre of a throng of Uruk-hai. Two arrows protruded jauntily from her armour but still she persisted, stabbing ferociously at exposed flesh and dipping from the sweep of broad-swords. Against the protests of every muscle in his body, Aragorn raised his great-sword and propelled himself into the centre of the melee. Back-to-back, the two rangers fought, slashing and thrusting at their enemies until a mass of black, broken limbs lay before them. With a triumphant shout, Annamir plunged her long-sword into the neck of the last Uruk-hai left standing and watched in dull satisfaction as his lumbering body fell to the floor.

For a moment the two rangers stood under the trees of Amon Hen, stifled by the returning calm, swaying slightly from the effort of standing still. Then Annamir took two steps back and she, too, fell to the ground to join the slaughtered Uruk-hai. Alarmed, Aragorn shambled to her side, heavily favouring his left side and snatching at breaths with a strangled wheeze 

“I got shot,” Annamir informed him morosely when he knelt at her side.

“Excellent observation, my fellow ranger,” was his dry response.

Annamir attempted a laugh but the sound got caught in her throat and was replaced with a grating cough. Aragorn pulled at the straps of her armour, carefully removing each piece to see what damage had been wrought by the arrows. He noted with relief that only one of the arrows had penetrated her armour but as he peeled back the blood-soaked fabric of her tunic from her shoulder, he was too tired to stop himself from grimacing.

“That bad?” she quipped, noting his expression.

“I’ve seen worse,” was his honest reply. Normally those with worse did not survive though.

Aragorn busied himself with her wound, carefully extracting the arrowhead and pulling rags from a pouch on his belt to mop up the blood. Annamir watched him wearily as he worked, applying a poultice and readying a needle and threat.

“They took the elf,” she said with a startled hiss as the needle punctured skin.

“Don’t move,” he admonished, not looking at her face but concentrating on the puckered flesh beneath his hands.

She watched him as he stitched up the wound, his hands shaking from either exhaustion or the adrenaline of battle still surging through his veins. The stitching was ragged and rutted; it would leave a jagged scar. Awesome.

When he was nearly done she continued, “forgive me. I tried to protect her but I couldn’t. I have failed us all.”

At that, he looked up. “You fought bravely. You have kept your honour.”

“Honour be damned! It has all been in vain – the fellowship has failed. The world of men will fall and all will come to darkness, and my city to ruin.”

Aragorn placed a hand on Annamir’s cheek, smearing orc viscera over blood and mud. “I do not know what strength is in my blood. But I swear to you, I will not let the white city fall. Nor our people fail.”

“ ‘Our people’?” she asked. “ _Our_ people!” She smiled, or at least a close approximation given the pain and exhaustion. Aragorn returned her tired smile and patted her cheek in a rare gesture of affection. “Come,” he commanded, “we cannot stay.” With great effort, and not an insignificant amount of swearing from Annamir, Aragorn helped her to her feet and two rangers started gingerly picking their way through the undergrowth towards the camp. 

“The enemy has the Ring,” Aragorn said gravely. “We must track the Uruk-hai. Their path is likely west towards Isengard. If we fail to reclaim the Ring, then the strength of Mordor will be unstoppable and no promise I make will stop the destruction of men and all peoples of Middle Earth. The Ring of Power must not fall into the hands of Saruman or Sauron.” 

“Yeah about that,” said Anna.

Aragorn stopped, turned to face Annamir with an expression of confusion and suspicion.

Warily, Annamir reached into a pocket and pulled out a long golden chain, the Ring of Power swinging lazily from the end.

Aragorn’s face fell, contorting with fury and something that looked a little like betrayal. Anna had expected such a reaction and she immediately lifted a hand to stall any vitriolic outburst. 

“I swear I did not take it! Nelwen told me that she needed some peace and quiet; she needed to be alone to collect her thoughts. But the Ring is always talking, always whispering to her, and she can never find peace. So I offered to carry it for a while, just a _few hours_ to alleviate her burden. I was going to give it back to her as soon as she returned to camp!” 

Aragorn’s right hand had shifted to rest on the hilt of his sword but Anna was relatively sure that he did so out of habit and not because he was genuinely considering using it. _Relatively_ sure. “Why should I believe your words?!” he shouted, clipped and intense.

The question annoyed her. For months she had travelled with the Ring, and not once had she given any indication of desiring it. She was not going to grovel for forgiveness; Anna was, as she always did, going to fight her corner.

“When have I ever lied to you? When have I ever said _anything_ to _anyone_ other than my honest opinion? Since we left Rivendell, you have all watched me. Do you think me fool enough not to notice? Every time I approached the elf, you and Gandalf watched me like birds of prey, waiting for me to fail, to reveal the weakness of men in the face of the temptations of power. But not once have I failed! Not once have I approached the elf with anything but friendship!” She paused there, considering, “ _mostly_ friendship. There have been _occasional_ arguments, mainly instigated by her.”

Pulling her stirring defence back on track, Anna continued, “how disappointed you and Gandalf must be that I have not conformed with your expectations. But the blood of Isildur runs through _your_ veins, not _mine_. I will not bare your judgement and censure based on _your_ insecurities.”

Her diatribe complete, Annamir fell silent save for her laboured breathing. The anger had drained from Aragorn’s face, although Anna was unsure whether it was because he was moved by her vindication or simply because his body was too fatigued to maintain facial expressions.

He said nothing. Anna felt compelled to continue, “we have the Ring. For now, it is safe from the clutches of our enemies. We can continue to Mordor, to finish our quest. We will not fail.”

He regarded her with an unreadable expression but Annamir swore that she saw the corners of his mouth twitch up for a fleeting moment. “No – we will not fail. Not if we hold true to each other,” said Aragorn, surprising Annamir by stepping forward and placing a hand companionably on her shoulder. Even through the weariness, his eyes shone, lively and _fond_. “We have the Ring. We could continue east to Mordor, finish what we began. But we will not abandon Nelwen to torment and death. Not while we have strength left.”

Annamir smiled broadly, clapping her hand over his where it lay. “Know that I have always respected you, even though we have disagreed – often bitterly.” Aragorn chuckled at that and was about to open his mouth to speak when Anna continued, “I will follow you, my _brother_ , my _captain_ , my _king_.”

Aragorn took both of her hands in his, gave them a firm shake. “You honour me, daughter of Gondor.” With renewed vigour he took off down the hill at speed, heading towards the camp and shouting, “leave all that can be spared behind; we travel light.” He stopped and smirked eagerly at Anna over his shoulder, “Let us hunt some orc!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For more writing, drabbles, artwork and general ramblings, check out my [tumblr](http://nelsynoo.tumblr.com/).


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